


I'll Cover You

by pauliemeatballs



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 01:44:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21236093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauliemeatballs/pseuds/pauliemeatballs
Summary: Another long fic, more dialogue-heavy this time. Reinhardt comes down with a cold and it's up to Siebren to make him better. Not so much about the cold itself, but the dynamics surrounding it; how Siebren became more comfortable with touch over time, how he wants to care for Rein as he's cared for him, and generally how emotional & grateful the two of them are that they have each other. Title is taken from the RENT song of the same name.





	I'll Cover You

**Author's Note:**

> -Sig and Rein Do Not have sex around the 4:15PM section; just a long makeout sesh  
-Reference for Sig's dorm room/living space: https://i.imgur.com/OAP0LU4.png

“Come on. You can do one more round.”

Reinhardt wiped the sweat from his forehead after putting the barbell back in place, a loud _ CLANG _ echoing throughout the gym that Siebren found uncharacteristic of him. The weights on the barbell made it look remarkably like his hammer, though Siebren knew it wasn’t even close to his max weight, and yet the redness in Reinhardt’s face resembled strain more than it did mere exertion. 

“Can I have my water?” Rein asked as he sat up.

Siebren looked around the floor underneath the exercise bench he sat on for Rein’s blue sports bottle, handing it to him and rubbing his fingers together at the pleasant coolness it left. 

“You have to lay down again, _ liefste. _ Don’t drink too much.”

“I know.”

The way he said it stirred concern within Siebren, as if he lamented the continuation of his routine. He rose to sit beside him, watching with furrowed brows as Rein held the bottle to his cheek. 

“You’re not getting tired, are you?” Siebren asked with soft challenge in his voice, giving Rein’s bicep a gentle squeeze. 

“Not tired of this, just...tired generally. I don’t know why, I felt okay when I was running.”

“Well, it's cold outside. Maybe you caught something?”

“I don’t get sick, _ liebling. _ I barely remember the last time I was.”

“Oh come on, you never know. You don’t have to--I don’t know--be on public transport or in a restaurant to contract something. Sometimes it's just how quickly the weather changes. And the watchpoint is so high up, after all. The air is even thinner here.”

“I’m fine, darling. Truly, I am._ ‘Contract something’ _, you make it sound so morbid.”

Siebren smirked, and took the initiative to straddle his lap, hugging him close and resting his cheek against Rein’s own.

“Hmm...very warm, very clammy…” he purred playfully, raising his head to give Rein’s forehead three tender, unbroken kisses while prodding Rein’s neck with his fingertips.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking your temperature.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you double majored in medical science.”

“Mm, well...I know one other way of taking your temperature, but I’d need your permission first.”

Reinhardt laughed out loud. “These results will be inconclusive, doctor. You are only making me warmer.”

Siebren giggled, brushing Rein’s hair behind his ears and giving him a deep kiss, sighing when he felt Rein’s arms around the small of his back, and blinking fast when Rein suddenly broke it.

“No, no, no! Why are you kissing me if you think I have something?”

“I don’t care. We can be sick together.”

“_ Kleiner Narr (You little fool) _, who will tuck me in and give me medicine and make me soup?” Rein asked in a sickly sweet drawl, burying his face in Siebren’s neck and nuzzling him like an oversized cat. “You’re the strong one, you have to take care of me.”

Siebren beamed, love and happiness warming his insides like a sip of his favorite tea. 

“_Natuurlijk zal ik voor je zorgen, (Of course I’ll take care of you,)_” he whispered. “Come on. We don’t have to finish today. Let’s go take your temperature for real.”

Rein sighed softly in agreement. He stood, Siebren still in his arms, before sudden fatigue caused him to buckle and sit back down, vertigo rattling his brain as if he’d fallen from a great distance in a dream. Siebren was used to the feeling of sudden drops, and so the stiffening of his muscles stemmed from a reflexive signal to use his powers if necessary. He shifted his center of gravity to push off of Reinhardt and back onto the ground, kneeling before cupping his face with concern.

“_Schatje? _”

“I’m okay. Just dizzy.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you today.”

“You didn’t do anything. It's my routine. I should have known not to do it today with how tired I was feeling before.”

Siebren blinked. “You felt sick before you started?”

Rein smiled sheepishly. “I thought the run would help. You know, give me a boost of energy.”

“_Jij dwaas, jij verdomde idioot, wat als je iets op jezelf had laten vallen?! (You fool, you damned nitwit, what if you dropped something on yourself?) _ What if the barbell had fallen on your neck?” he exclaimed under his breath, hitting Reinhardt on the side of the head with his fingertips. The larger man continued to smile. To be at the recieving end of Siebren’s concern was, to him, as blissful as receiving the brunt of his love. 

“_Siehst du? Du musst dich um mich kümmern._ _(See? I need you to take care of me.)_”

“_Je bent niet dom, Reinhardt. Je bent onzorgvuldig. Er is een verschil. (You’re not stupid, Reinhardt. You’re careless. There’s a difference.) _” Siebren stood upright as he spoke, hands behind his back in his trademark look of frigid austerity. It immediately brought color to Reinhardt’s face. 

“I hope you’re not mad at me.”

Siebren leaned almost at a ninety-degree angle, looking Rein straight in the eye.

“Furious.” He punctuated himself with a quick kiss on Rein’s lips. “Let’s go.”

* * *

_ Siebren was cold, and it infuriated him. Part of that excited him in a sense: he knew what it was like to be angry again. His brain still worked, at least. When Dr. Augustin and Reinhardt guided him to his room, he found himself rooted to the floor, taken aback at how different it was from his sleeping quarters in Talon. It stirred in his mind what a college dorm room must look like. Had he gone to college? He couldn’t remember for sure. But Dr. Augustin and Dr. Ziegler both referred to him with the same honorific, so perhaps he did. The room had a small kitchen area, big enough for one person to use at a time. A carved out corner for a counter, a stove, a sink, and a small refrigerator underneath a section of extra counter, completed with four sizeable cabinets above. The room itself presented him with a king-sized bed, fitted with clean grey pillows and a darker charcoal comforter. Two nightstands stood on each side, one with a small, bendable desk lamp and the other left alone. Behind the first one was a wire with an adjustable dial leading up to a circular lamp on the ceiling, which was high enough that Siebren didn’t feel claustrophobically enclosed. What especially hammered it home, though, was the window at the other side of the room. It seemed to take up the entire wall, and provided a crystal clear picture of the watchpoint. He was not allowed windows back at Talon. It did not occur to him to question why, though Dr. O'Deorain explained that over time, he would be allowed a vision of the outside. To suddenly introduce a prisoner to a taste of the outside world would be “triggering”, according to her, though he knew now it was to continue affirming he was one in the first place, and to trigger hope was to trigger rebellion. _

_ A large, slim television sat on a dresser towards the foot of the bed, and around the small corner from that was a bathroom, again, fit enough for a single user. It took Siebren a moment to realize he was smiling just a little. The room was clearly comforting in some respect. There were many new things to touch and try, and though he had been asleep for a long time, he wanted to know what it felt like to lie in a bed again. _

_ Siebren had looked inside the mini-fridge, seeing that it was mainly stocked with water bottles which set off a powerful, almost insatiable itch of thirst in his throat. He drank his fill, and then realized how cold he was. He shuffled over to the bathroom to try the shower out, desperate to feel hot water on his skin again, though it took him some time to regain enough coordination that he could actually move the dial. He had the red scorch marks on his arms to prove it. The pain turned out to be worth it, however, as he heard himself make a little noise when the blissful heat of the water purified him from head to toe. He felt his skin was falling off, but in a good way, and the soap, smelling of powder, brought peace to his senses. He stepped out feeling almost brand new. Almost. When he turned to the sink to begin brushing his teeth, he wiped the condensation from the mirror, and felt his knees buckle. _

_ He was hideous. _

_ Siebren knew his hands and arms were skinny, but he had not seen how his face had suffered, as well, foregoing confronting the inevitable with the utmost focus thrown into the beginning of his physical therapy. He was completely gaunt, his skin sickly pale, his cheeks sucked in as if they’d been deflated. His cheekbones jutted out sharply, and his oversized-looking eyes were wide, bulbous, and slightly pink. He grimaced in the mirror to check his teeth. Thankfully, they still looked normal--uneven and dull, but no more satisfactory than they've always been--though the final kick in the stomach was his hair. It had grown out wildly and and now rested around his shoulders, a shocking, snowy white, having been flattened against his head from the water in what Siebren thought couldn’t be a more unflattering sight to behold. He'd felt these qualities, known somewhere deep in his heart that such a long time away would make him a stranger even to himself, but to fully acknowledge them made him feel like a fantastical, transformed beast whose time as a man was up. His throat suddenly hurt, and he did not feel tears roll down his already damp cheeks as he unpackaged a new toothbrush and finished up his routine. _

_ Not having the energy to search for clothes, Siebren took the bathrobe hanging on the other side of the door and tied it tight. He wobbled over to the edge of the bed nearest the window, preparing to sit when he saw a small purple remote on the nightstand. He took it and examined the functions; a small menu screen below a circular SELECT button, enclosed with four directional arrow buttons, and a tiny dot of a pink power button at the top right corner. Siebren pressed it and the menu lit up with an icy blue glow, letting him know something in the room was STANDARD. He looked closer at the menu to see if there was any indication of what the remote functioned for, and then he noticed a rhombus-like shape behind the words with a cross section inside. _ The window _ , he concluded. He touched the glass and felt a slight hexagonal pattern that seemed invisible to the eye, and he felt something twinge in his brain. A memory? A signal to halt? He couldn’t be sure. Instead, he pressed the right arrow button, which switched STANDARD to FOREST. Siebren blinked, a small thrum of excitement tickling him as he slowly began to understand the function of the remote. He clicked to the right again, changing FOREST to CITY, then CITY to BEACH, and then BEACH to SPACE. Another thrum in his belly told him to press SELECT, and he obliged. The window began a transformation process, looking like it was closing itself off to blend in with the rest of the wall, until the hexagons turned, and it began to darken to an inky blue, and then an infinite black. What appeared to be glitter faded in across the tapestry, until Siebren realized they were stars, and the transformation was complete. The window now showed him a view of outer space that he knew wasn’t there, but thrilled him nonetheless. _

_ Siebren pressed the upper arrow button, and suddenly the clear borders of his ceiling began to glow faintly. His mind put two and two together, and figured the walls could be changed too. Doing so turned the ceiling into another portal to space, the lamp reflecting the scenery and seeming to disappear. Siebren smiled. He gathered the dark comforter around his shoulders, and slipped down off the edge of the bed to sit closer to the main window. He found it did not warm him sufficiently. _

* * *

Reinhardt lay slack against Siebren’s pillows, hair wet from a cool shower to clean off the sweat of his exercise, and to level out his temperature enough that his natural body heat did not affect the heat of his oncoming fever. He was bundled in a second comforter, old and dully colored with pinks and forest greens and deep browns in an unflattering plaid pattern, pilling almost all over and a corner blooming with exposed cotton. Rein didn’t remember who it used to belong to or where the squad even got it, but since they’d given it to Siebren, his smell had rubbed off on it. Rein cozied into it further, bringing it closer to his nose. He watched Siebren in the tiny kitchen area of his dorm, unpackaging a new thermometer, still with the same dopey, lovestruck expression plastered onto his face, feeling it widening when he strutted over with it in hand.

“Under your tongue.”

Rein took it and did as he was told. 

“You’re not still mad, are you?”

“I’m not mad, _ liefste _. I just get worried.”

Rein wriggled a hand from the comforter to take one of Siebren’s. The older man gave him a sharp, stern look.

“Do not say it.”

“You--”

“Don’t.”

“You are adorable when you’re angry,” he persisted, bringing the back of Siebren’s hand towards him and leaning his forehead against it. Siebren’s face remained indignant, a single thick eyebrow stubbornly cocked, and if it weren’t for his overbite, Rein could say with confidence he was pouting. He found himself too lost in his feelings to notice the thermometer’s beep. Siebren did, and snatched it from his mouth.

“You’re sick,” he declared, and went to run the tip under hot water.

“How sick though?”

“About a hundred degrees. _ Misschien barst je in vlammen uit (Maybe you’ll burst into flames) _, I don’t know.”

“And you’ll be right there with the extinguisher,” Reinhardt gushed. Siebren took a sheet of paper towel and wrapped the thermometer in it, setting it aside before walking back over to the bed, crawling to Rein’s side and turning the TV on with the same acidic attitude. Rein certainly did feel sick; his skin sang with aches and over-sensitivity such that even the slightest bump or scratch would feel agonizing. His sinuses and throat itched uncomfortably, and though he felt physically exhausted, antagonizing his husband kept his energy flowing.

“I love you, my darling.”

“Okay.”

“I love yooou…”

“Mm.”

“_ Mein süßer, reizender Ehemann....mein Stern am Nachthimmel...das Blut meines Lebens…(My sweet, lovely husband...my star in the night sky...the blood of my life...) _”

“Thank you…” Siebren idly mumbled while browsing the channels.

“Ooh! _ Lord of the Rings _will be on later! Please watch it with me?”

“Hmph. I don’t like fantasy movies.”

“Oh, yes you do, don’t lie! _ Du bist im Moment nur eine Göre. (You’re just being a brat right now.) _”

Siebren’s head snapped in Reinhardt’s direction fast enough to pull a muscle. Rein felt the heat of his gaze and met it with another silly smile. He raised his eyebrows as if to say “I can do this all day, but can you?” Siebren found he couldn’t. His forced animosity began to fade, and though the other man was ill, the need of Rein’s warmth against his lips suddenly overwhelmed his senses. He leaned in to satisfy it.

“Don’t kiss me, _ lieben... _”

“Do something about it,” Siebren retorted, leaving kisses along Rein’s cheek and jaw.

“I can’t. Everything hurts,” Rein complained. Siebren stroked his other cheek, giving him an amused look of understanding before rising from the bed and retrieving three different kinds of medicine from one of his cabinets; acetaminophen gels, cough syrup, and lemon-flavored effervescent tablets.

“Give me the lemon ones.”

“The gels are stronger.”

“I don’t care. I see fizzy lemon medicine and I will have fizzy lemon medicine.”

Siebren rolled his eyes. “Fine. The aches will be worse later on anyway. I’ll give you the syrup tonight to help you sleep.”

“Is it grape flavored?” Rein asked with disgust.

“No, cherry flavor.”

“Agh. Even worse,” Rein protested. 

“Don’t be a baby,” Siebren scolded as he dropped two tablets into a glass of water. 

“Hopefully I don’t die.”

“Something tells me you won’t,” Siebren replied with exaggerated consideration. He handed Rein the glass, and the tiredness in Rein's face brightened when he tasted the sweet froth. "Ooh, lemony," he chirped. He took another gulp, and another larger one to finish it off. "And to think you want to give me nasty cherry syrup. Medical malpractice, I tell you."

"I'm _ going _ to give it to you later. I don't care how much you complain."

"And such a lack of bedside manner. You might get your license revoked, sir."

"Heaven forbid!"

Siebren said so with such flamboyance in his hands and face that Rein was able to discern a genuine blush from his overheating body. Siebren was what others might refer to as “kooky”; Reinhardt found he didn’t like the term. It seemed too much of a surface level assessment of Siebren’s eccentricity, which reminded him very much of the medicine he’d just imbibed. It sparked and crackled and glittered like fireworks, which only made him more endearing in Rein’s eyes as it contrasted his huffy, professorial demeanor. Rein often found himself shedding tears without realizing it upon witnessing Siebren’s raw, unfiltered enthusiasm for his passion: the stars, the infinite blackness of space he somehow found comforting, the galaxies and planets and moons that defied spatial and temporal perception. Rein looked into his eyes and smiled. The clinical, frigid logic so characteristic of scientists was nowhere to be found in Siebren, not even when he tried to imitate it. Only light. Only fire. Only love.

“When does your movie come on?”

Rein blinked, having been lost in thought. “In a couple of hours.”

“Then rest for a bit. I’ll be right here.” Siebren reached towards his nightstand for his reading glasses and holopad. Rein buried himself further into the comforter, turning onto his side so he could stare at Siebren before he drifted off to sleep. Siebren eyed him from his peripherals, curled up into the pillows and looking effortlessly studious as he browsed the holopad for a book to read.

“You look a lot smaller like that.”

“Hold my hand so I don’t disappear.”

Siebren did so, setting a timer for two hours in a separate tab. As he read, he naturally began to turn his position in Rein’s direction, towards his heat and soft breathing and the mild twitches of his large hand, until they were face to face, the holopad dividing them. Siebren did not notice. 

* * *

_ Siebren heard a knock on the door and flinched as if he’d been struck. Knowing he was not in a position to deny more capable people of anything, he granted permission to the knocker in a dry croak. When the door opened, he felt a sickening blend of relief and anxiety at the sight of Reinhardt, the man who had been taking care of him for all this time. Perhaps he might have felt differently if he didn’t know what he looked like. _ He’s been with you for months, he knows what you look like _ , a voice in his head reminded him. Somehow it didn’t make him feel any better. _

_ “Dr. de Kuiper?” Reinhardt’s voice was soft and deep, and evocative of a natural gentleness. “I called you Siebren while you were asleep, I know. I took it upon myself. I thought the more casual I was, the better it would work.” _

_ “Siebren’s fine,” he rasped. _

_ “Ah, good. I’m glad I wasn’t being rude.” Reinhardt approached Siebren on the other side of the bed, the older man looking remarkably like an animal in captivity, the lower half of his face obscured by the grey comforter. _

_ “I see you have figured out how to use the window,” Rein said, taking a moment to glance up at the ceiling, then stumbling back on his feel a bit. “Whew...a bit disorienting for me, but don’t worry.” Siebren looked away. _

_ “Do you remember me?” _

_ “...I do.” _

_ “Thank you for the hug, by the way. You’ll learn fast that I am a hugger,” Rein chuckled as he knelt down to sit at Siebren’s side. He felt himself sidling in the opposite direction. _

_ “Well, I just...I just wanted to say hello. For real, this time.” The larger man extended his hand towards Siebren. It took him a moment to will his own from inside the blanket cocoon. When he did, he found himself focusing on how Reinhardt’s hand dwarfed it. It was warm, strong, and calloused, indicative of a kind of noble strength. The longer Siebren’s was held, the more sour his contradictory feelings felt, though he found himself wanting to linger after the handshake had been broken. _

_ “Hello.” _

_ Reinhardt smiled. _

_ “Thank you...for taking care of me.” _

_ “You don’t have to thank me, my friend. I wanted to do it. I figu--” _

_ As Reinhardt tried to gently clap Siebren on the back, the older man recoiled sharply and scuttered back against the nightstand, making it thump against the wall. Rein’s hand hovered awkwardly in the air, though his face expressed a sad kind of understanding. _

_ “Whoa, hey! Are you alright?” _

_ Bitter embarrassment hooked at Siebren’s insides, as well as regret. He was not trying to restrain him, or feel him with insidious purpose. It was a mere platonic gesture, nothing more, and yet revulsion ensnared his gut. It was not an inherent disgust towards Reinhardt himself, but an automatic response to being touched in the first place. Memories of Dr. O’Deorain’s lab and operating room, the things she put inside of him, the grooves soldered into his temples for the helmet’s optical functions that never stopped itching, the day the anesthesia wore off and he found himself restrained from head to toe, his eyelids pulled back and his mouth stretched open with a plastic lip retractor, the-- _

_ “Siebren, Siebren, Siebren, look at me!” _

_ Siebren had been incessantly scratching at the grooves, now healed into permanent scars. Again, Reinhardt tried to touch him. He tried to take his hands, and Siebren recoiled again, but he found he truly didn’t want to. It wasn’t wrong for someone to want to just take your hands. It wasn’t wrong for someone to clap him on the back. None of it was wrong, and yet his nerves screamed that it was. _

_ “Siebren, I know. Look at me. I know.” _

_ He had begun frantically looking around the room, not hearing how strained his breathing was, not knowing what he was even looking for. An exit? A diversion from Reinhardt’s presence? A sign that his nightmare was still ongoing, and that none of this was real? _

_ “I’m going to have to touch you again. Just your face. I just want you to look at me, okay? Just look at me. Here I go.” _

_ Reinhardt’s huge hands cupped his face, and the contradictory feelings plunged back into him like a punch to the stomach. How wonderful it was to be held, and how horrible. _

_ “I’ve been through this, Siebren,” he whispered. “I know what this feels like. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, but this I know. I know it hurts. I know you feel sick. But I’ll still be here.” _

_ Siebren’s brain could not ascertain the warmth of Reinhardt’s hands, whether or not they burned or soothed. Out of the corner of his eye, Siebren saw the stars. They weren’t really there, but the ones they mimicked also burned. They burned to guide and illuminate. They burned to soothe. _

_ “I won’t give up on you.” _

* * *

A fluttery, harp-like alarm went off near Rein’s head, stirring him from his sleep. Blinking blearily, he craned his neck over to swipe the “dismiss” option on the screen, and saw Siebren in the corner of his eye preparing a cup of tea, glasses still on. 

“Is that for me or for you?”

“You. I’ll make my own later.”

“_ I’ll _ let you know when you can make your own. There are too many important things in the movie to miss.”

Siebren returned, taking his holopad off the nightstand and replacing it with the mug. Tossing it over to his side of the bed, he crawled on top of Reinhardt and lay slack against him as if he were a mass of pillows.

“What are you doing?”

“Asserting my dominance,” Siebren muffled from Rein’s comforter, burrowing his face into the crevice of Rein’s neck. “You’re like a furnace.”

Rein wrapped his arms around his slighter body, turning his head to brush his lips against Siebren’s soft hair. “Is that a statement or a compliment?”

“Both.” They chuckled furtively.

“Then get off so I can hold you properly, since you’re not afraid of germs for some reason.”

Siebren obliged, sliding off Reinhardt onto his side of the bed so the larger man could open the comforter to him like unfurled wings. He smiled when he felt Rein’s arms envelop him again, sticky-sweet emotion being tossed and yanked around inside him like taffy at the blanket cocoon closing around his back, but also at how acutely sweltering Rein’s skin felt against his own. He felt both the protector and the protected. 

“You don’t have germs.”

“Ah, right. Okay, so it’s everyone else that has cooties.”

“Yes.”

“And what would happen if i accidentally sneezed on you?”

“I’d smack you silly.”

Rein guffawed enough that it strained his chest, making him cover his mouth as he coughed. “That makes no sense. What’s the difference between that and you still wanting to kiss me?”

“You’d be spitting all over me.”

Reinhardt kissed the top of his head, poking his glasses to adjust them slightly. “I love you, _ lieben _ . _ Du bist so albern. (You’re so silly.) _”

“I don’t see anything silly about that,” Siebren harrumphed with phony severity. His ears perked up when he heard the channel’s feature presentation music fade in, and he turned in Rein’s arms to lie against him like a large chair. He could almost hear Rein taunting his prior distaste for fantasy films in his mind, which couldn’t be more untrue. Even if one hadn’t witnessed Siebren waxing poetic about mystical medieval lore from an ancient franchise forgotten by many, it would not be too implausible to assume Siebren was the kind of man who lived and breathed the philosophy of fantasy itself. He simply refused to give Reinhardt the satisfaction of being right. Siebren smiled.

“I love you too, _ liefste _. Drink your tea.”

* * *

_ “So strange how my hair hasn’t grown longer than this,” Siebren pondered as Reinhardt stood behind him to tie it into a ponytail. _

_ “I think it looks nice, if that means anything.” _

_ “I have you to thank for that.” _

_ Reinhardt blushed. He returned to the kitchen to garnish Siebren’s bowl of oatmeal with three apple slices, just the way he liked it. Siebren’s appetite had gradually returned under Reinhardt’s supervision, though his reclusiveness had stayed somewhat the same, as he did not feel comfortable eating around the rest of the squad. Siebren had relayed to Reinhardt that it was mostly an issue of self-consciousness; his appearance, his lack of coordination, and even his age factored in. It was all too reminiscent of a senile elder in a nursing home being fed mush by a nurse to accommodate his missing teeth, and it made him shudder with revulsion. He at least knew how Reinhardt viewed him and felt about him, and it kept the intrusive thoughts at bay. Again, he diverted his attention to his hollow stomach, and dipped an apple slice into the oatmeal. Both were delicious. _

_ “Hey, are you ready?” _

_ Siebren looked up at Reinhardt, waiting patiently for his permission. He nodded. _

_ “Here I go.” _

_ Reinhardt sat down beside Siebren, taking his non-dominant hand and holding it gently while he continued to eat with the other. The two of them had agreed to slowly ease Siebren into feeling comfortable with physical contact again, and Reinhardt figured one of the best ways to do so was within multitasking, therefore making the contact more casual. Before, Siebren was only able to hold Reinhardt’s hand for about a minute before pulling away. A minute became a few, a few became several, and eventually he was able to handle it throughout his whole meal. Siebren took a spoonful of his oatmeal, and then another, savoring the pleasant warmth in his belly, and then he stopped. _

_ “Something wrong?” Reinhardt murmured. Siebren answered by turning his body towards him. _

_ “Take my other hand,” he requested. Reinhardt obliged, and smiled proudly as Siebren seemed to attune himself to the sensation in an almost meditative state, thumbing the hills of Rein’s knuckles and squeezing once in a while to really feel the unique texture of Reinhardt’s palms and fingertips. _

_"And, um, I'd like to request something, if I may."  
_

_"Of course."_

_"Its just that...I'm not sure if I'm allowed to be out yet, at least by myself...I'd like to get my hair cut. Short, like in my old I.D.? If not today, then sometime this week."_

_"You mean you want me to go with you?"_

_"Yes. Only if it's not too much trouble."_

_"I'd love to, my friend. And I agree, it's much safer to be in public with someone to look out for you."_

_"Well, yes, and, um--well, I'd just...I'd like for you to be there. With me."_

* * *

“What?! What do you _ mean _?” Siebren exclaimed.

“I know, right? I thought they’d have the rest of them on, since they bothered to show the extended version in the first place.”

“Well this...this just will not do. I can’t just be left hanging like that.”

“Told you you’d love it.”

“Legolas and Gimli think Frodo is dead! Th-they’ve all been separated and they think they’ll never see each other again! What happened to Gandalf?!” Siebren had jumped out of the bed, ranting in Reinhardt’s face with genuine panic. “Please tell me they reunite. Please?” he pleaded as he knelt at the edge of the bed before him.

Reinhardt simply returned Siebren’s frantic uncertainty with a smirk. “If I tell you, will you start being nicer to me?”

Siebren’s face fell with genuine concern. “What do you mean?”

Rein felt his stomach drop. He’d only meant to tease Siebren, to mock his forced pompousness, but now he saw regret in his eyes, and Rein experienced a sour wave of his own.

“I’m sorry. You...you can always tell me when I go too far. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings before,” Siebren lamented as he took Reinhardt’s hands, piercing Reinhardt with an earnestly apologetic gaze before averting his eyes downward as if to contemplate his own wrongdoing and express a sense of unworthiness. Rein couldn’t prevent himself from laughing softly, tipping Siebren’s face up towards his with his knuckle.

“I’m just playing with you, _ lieben _ . I have thick skin. And you’re not nearly as mean as you think you are. _ Du bist wie eine Katze, die versucht, beängstigend zu sein. (You’re like a cat trying to be scary.)_” 

Siebren smiled sheepishly, blinking in the wake of his own theatricality. He stood straight up, still holding Rein’s hands. “I _ am _ still sorry.” He quickly pushed his glasses up his nose.

“I’d let you know if you had hurt my feelings. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. You’re just very dramatic.”

Siebren cleared his throat almost too loudly, shoving a hearty laugh out of Reinhardt that make him start giggling as well. The larger man leaned to scoop Siebren up in his arms and fall back onto the bed with him. 

“Ah, my silly man...my silly, silly man...”

Siebren sighed peacefully as the two of them lay prone across the comforters, the TV droning on at the edge of the bed, a ray of sunlight pouring warmly through the window like the gentle hands of a masseuse on Siebren’s back. His face was in Rein’s neck once again, lips against the collar of his black t-shirt. He shifted his head slightly enough that they could touch his fervid skin, leaving soft, lingering kisses. He felt Rein rumble in satisfaction, his large fingers tracing his vertebrae down & up and tickling the silver-black hair at the nape of his neck. 

“What would you like to eat later?” Siebren asked, his words endearingly muffled.

“I wouldn’t mind you making me something. But first check what's for dinner in the mess hall. Sometimes I like to be surprised.”

“Your chances are better with the mess hall. You know I can’t cook,” Siebren said as he began to move up from Rein’s neck, over his jawline and onto his cheek.

“That’s not true. And you don’t have to be a good cook to make soup.”

“Making breakfast doesn’t make me good at cooking. And yes, you do. Soup is very complex.”

“You make such a big deal ou--” Siebren cut him off when he reached his lips, and Rein found he could not muster the energy nor the need to shoo him away again. Wrapping his arms around him, he made sure to keep his lips closed despite Siebren’s hungry persistence, though the softness of his kisses made it extremely difficult to resist.

“You torture me.”

“Am I being mean now?”

“Cruel. Very cruel.”

Siebren removed his glasses and rested his forehead against Rein’s, the pair gazing into each other’s eyes and enjoying the silence. The unspoken communication of their love, as if it was seeping through their skin and into the other, was Reinhardt’s favorite thing about their relationship. He wished he could always be with Siebren, even in his dreams. He wanted to step out of his body at night, Siebren with him, and enjoy the forbidden other half of the day. He wanted his soul to dance with Siebren’s across gardens, across water, across the stars.

“You’re crying, _ liefste, _” Siebren whispered knowingly, petting his hair.

Rein grinned, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m happy.”

* * *

“Where have you two been all day?” Ana asked with amusement in her voice when she saw Siebren near the entrance of the mess hall.

“Oh. Hello, Ana. Uh, Reinhardt just sent me to see what you’ll be eating later. Also we’ve been cooped up watching movies.”

“It’s McCree’s turn to offer an entree tonight, which is good. I usually look forward to a Mexican spread. So much to choose from.”

“Any soup?”

“Reinhardt just wants soup? McCree could be roasting a pig back there and he’d ask for half of it with a side of everything else.”

Siebren chuckled fondly. “ I know. It’s just that he’s not feeling well. He has a bit of a cold.”

Ana merely smiled. “And let me guess. He’s pretending he’s too macho to get sick.”

“Precisely. Though that only seemed to last for a little while. Now he’s a bit whiny.”

“You love it, don’t lie,” she teased, and Siebren blushed. “We’ll be down here if you want to bring anything up for yourself, but in the meantime…” Ana began feeling around the breast pocket of her mauve blouse, then the pockets of her sandy gauchos for her phone. “I have a soup recipe he’ll be very familiar with. I’ll send it to you.”

“Ah, I appreciate it, Ana. Really, I do. But I’m not the best at cooking.”

“Nonsense! You make such lovely sweets.”

“Those I enjoy making. It’s savory stuff that throws me off. There’s so much depth to everything and I can never wrap my head around it.”

“And that’s coming from you of all people? You’ll be fine. It's a basic chicken soup recipe, and Reinhardt knows it well enough not to care if you leave something out or put more of something in. I’ve just sent it to your phone.”

Siebren heard the message notification on his phone and smiled, unlocking it to peruse the ingredients he’d need. “Thank you again. Really.”

“No problem. If you hurry, you can still get some chicken before McCree drowns it in pepper.”

* * *

“You’re allowed to throw it out if you don’t like it.”

“Would you stop being so hard on yourself?” Rein whispered into the nape of Siebren’s neck. “Look at you, cooking for me.”

Siebren smirked, pouring a cup of cooked white rice into the saucepan. Ana didn’t lie. The recipe was simple enough that Siebren thankfully didn’t need to make his own stock. Chopping vegetables was a bit harder, though he took his time with that, always watching the tips of his fingers. The chicken had already been chopped up, and the piece he tasted prior to preparation was delicious, perfectly seasoned with a smoky aftertaste and melting in his mouth like butter. He stirred slowly, methodically, and Rein noticed.

“Relax. It's like you’re doing surgery.”

“I might as well be.”

“Oh, for crying ou--will you move? Please?” Rein playfully shoved him out of the way, taking a spoon from a nearby drawer and bringing the broth to his lips. Siebren’s stomach sank when he saw his face brighten. He knew he’d only laud the flavor to make him feel better.

“Liebe, this is delicious. I’m not just saying so.”

“Sure.”

“It’s the truth!” Rein said with a laugh, taking another spoonful and blowing on it. 

“Well, it's not my recipe in the first place, so…”

“You--” Rein placed his spoon on the counter and took Siebren’s cheeks in his hand, squishing them together with his fingertips and bringing their faces close together. It only made Siebren’s indignant scowl funnier.

“Your. Soup. Is. Wonderful.”

“Ish not my schoup.”

He squeezed harder, making Siebren’s reddening face look even more ridiculous. “You will acquecise to my compliments, damn you,” he demanded, choking on a chuckle as he spoke. Siebren stubbornly folded his arms, his lips tightly pursed. Rein accepted the unspoken challenge, releasing his grip and scooping Siebren up into his arms instead, giving one of his signature, booming laughs.

“See how the fabled elixir has restored my strength?! You are no match for me!” he roared, spinning Siebren around and out of the kitchen while the slighter man hunched forward, holding on for dear life.

“All right, all right, ALL RIGH--” Reinhardt had all but thrown him onto the bed, delivering a fierce onslaught of kisses that Siebren was powerless to defend himself against. His laughs soon transitioned to screeches as Reinhardt began tickling his stomach, and he began to writhe on the bed, overwhelmed with happiness. A twinge of excitement in his lower abdomen reminded him of the one line of defense he still hadn’t utilized, finding a good enough opening to crane his neck up and crush their mouths together. Almost immediately, the energy depleted from Reinhardt as he let Siebren trap him with his legs, their bodies aligning like puzzle pieces. The kiss began to mellow with purpose, and when Reinhardt placed his hand on the waistband of Siebren’s leggings, he did not stop him.

* * *

<strike> _do you know what it's like wanting to touch you? do you know what it's like to be trapped in the middle of nowhere, unable to move? i haven’t been hugged in years, referred to by my first name in years; every time someone has touched me it was to restrain me or force me to take something or put something under my skin; i had forgotten what it was like to just touch and be touched, and you managed to touch me without hands, without skin, and you feed me and you wake me and you lull me to sleep, and i want to always be fed, but my skin hurts and my stomach is always empty, and i can’t sleep, not without you; i don’t know if my skin hurts because of before or because of after, but the pain is different with you; for once i am not breaking down to remain dismembered; i am breaking down to become a new me; my bones are strong, my muscles are alive, my teeth are hard, and my hair is short again, and i can laugh again and i can cry again and i feel new skin growing in all the time; i don’t feel old, i don’t feel dead, is it the same for you? my friend? my dear friend?  
_ </strike>

_ “Hey…” _

_ Siebren walked up behind Reinhardt, slipping his arms between his larger ones and wrapping them around his torso in a tender hug. He rested his head against the space between his shoulders, closed his eyes, and sighed. Some things were better left unsaid. _

* * *

“THE SOUP.”

Siebren jumped out of bed, pulling his turtleneck back down cursing himself in his head for having the soup over the flame for too long. He had left the metal spoon inside the saucepan and snatched his hand away when his fingertips singed on the handle. Rein merely reclined on the comforter, still sweaty, even more exhausted than before, but ethereally happy nonetheless. He watched a pantless Siebren awkwardly fumble through his cabinet for a bowl with seething frustration on his face before he caught himself, took a deep breath, and carefully placed the bowl on the counter as if it were a bomb rigged to go off any second.

“_ Liebling. _”

“Huh?”

“Your pants.” Rein had hooked Siebren’s leggings off the floor with his foot and tossed them over to him, who returned a forced smile of annoyance before he hastily slipped them back on over his boxer briefs and continued frantically browsing his drawers for a ladle. Rein decided to have mercy on him, and rose from the bed to help.

“Not for nothing, I actually think I feel a little better now,” he tittered, holding Siebren from behind as he poured soup into the bowl.

“You’re hilarious.”

“But I’m not joking! Love_ is _ the very best medicine.”

Siebren rolled his eyes, moving the saucepan to an unheated burner and covering it with a small plate. He shivered when he felt Rein rest his mouth against his shoulder, the feel of his beard against his neck making him smile through the stress. Once the bowl was sufficiently full, he put the ladle in the sink.

“_ Ich will das für uns, (I want this for us,) _ ” Reinhardt whispered. “ _ Eines Tages. (One day.) _”

“_ En we zullen het krijgen. (And we will have it.) _”

Reinhardt smiled tearfully. So did Siebren.

“Eat with me, _ lieben _?”

“Of course,” Siebren softly replied, looking over his shoulder. He went to retrieve two foldout trays from behind his closet, setting them up at the foot of the bed. As Reinhardt sat, he returned to one of the cabinets for the acetaminophen tablets, bringing with him the thermometer.

“How are the aches?"

“Not as bad as they could be,” Rein groaned, rubbing the small of his back. Siebren sat beside him, pressing two fingers into the crook between his jaw and neck to feel his lymph nodes. 

“You’re still very warm…”

“Your fault.”

“Ha ha. The good thing is that you don’t seem to have a sore throat. It’s not swollen enough.”

“Then I don’t have to take the cough syrup,” Rein replied slyly when he felt Siebren tilt his head down to kiss his forehead.

“Nope. Still do. It's a sleeping aid too, and you need it.”

“You can be my sleeping aid, you know.” Rein smiled lazily and snuck a finger into Siebren’s waistband, tickling him softly. It was his turn to lift Rein’s face to his own with his knuckle.

“When you get better. _ Zal dat je motiveren om te slapen? (Will that motivate you to sleep?) _”

“_ Jawohl. _”

Siebren sealed their deal with a kiss. “Take your temperature. And the medicine.” He stepped back over to the kitchen to prepare his own bowl of soup, taking the cough syrup out of the cabinet so he wouldn’t forget. 

“Wait, does this mean we’re not watching _ The Two Towers _?”

* * *

_ “Ik ben je zo dankbaar voor je. (I’m so grateful for you.)” _

_ The two of them lay on their backs across Siebren’s dampened comforter, not having bothered to dry themselves after their shower. These little pockets of time were Siebren’s favorite, because they lacked it entirely. Spaces in the day where everything else in the world ceased to exist around them, and only their love mattered. Only the wrinkles in each others’ faces, the softness of their body hair, the blessed feeling of their lips against each others’ skin, the contented sighs, the memorized quirks in their diction and behavior, the entanglement of their limbs and the heat of their sweat and the echoes of their laughter revolving around them like the ringing of bells. Siebren turned onto his side, and Reinhardt did the same. _

_ “Ich liebe dich so sehr, (I love you so much,)” Reinhardt murmured with grave sincerity in his eyes, as if he were the one saved. Siebren supposed it was as true as it was on his end. His eyes followed the wrinkles on Rein’s face, and wondered if he’d have loved him as much if they met when they were younger. It hurt his heart and throat to think about; a reality where they didn’t love each other like this, or didn’t love each other at all. Too much. Far too much to ponder. A tear ran across the bridge of his nose. He knew the existence of multiple realities was factual, and for that he held the fiercest contempt. Why couldn’t he erase the ones that didn’t have their love? Why couldn’t he make it so that every single lifetime they spent together fostered a love like this, no matter when they met? _

_ “You’re crying, liebe.” _

_ Siebren sniffed. “I’m happy.” He swallowed hard to open up his throat again. “I just think about sad things sometimes.” It was pointless. Again it closed up, tighter than before as if violent hands had taken the muscles within and wrung them like wet sheets. _

_ “What kind of sad things?” _

_ More tears flowed, and though his voice waned, he did not sob. “Ik wil niet denken aan een realiteit waar ik je niet ken, of waar ik je niet mag. Het is niet eerlijk. Het leeft ergens in mij, en het maakt me kapot. Ik wil het eruit snijden. (I don’t want to think about a reality where I don’t know you, or where I don’t love you. It's not fair. It lives somewhere in me, and it destroys me. I want to cut it out.)” He finally gave in and grimaced, his lower lip wobbling. Reinhardt pulled him closer into a hug. _

_ “Man kann nie wissen. Vielleicht hinterlässt die Art und Weise, wie du dich jetzt fühlst, einen Effekt an anderer Stelle. Ich frage mich, ob die anderen Welten wissen, was ich wirklich für dich empfinde. (You never know. Maybe the way you feel now leaves an effect elsewhere. I wonder if the other worlds know how I really feel about you.)” He paused. “Dass ich dich bereits für meinen Ehemann halte. (That I already think of you as my husband.)” _

_ Siebren raised his reddened eyes to Reinhardt’s, a certain kind of awe arresting him that did not freeze or short-circuit, but melted a wall of ice that was already destined for the light. _

_ “Möchtest du mich eines Tages heiraten? (Would you like to marry me one day?)” Rein’s own voice began to relay emotional strain. “Ich will dich in jeder Welt heiraten. (I want to marry you in every world.)” _

_ The ice melted, and Siebren felt at peace. He laughed through his tears. “You want to marry _ me? _ ” _

_ “There is no one else for me. The angels made sure of that. Sie wählten ihren hellsten, schönsten Stern aus und machten dich und schickten dich zu mir. (They chose their brightest, most beautiful star, and made you, and then sent you to me.)” _

_ Siebren buried his face in Rein’s neck, continuing to cry. _

_ “You are my husband.” _

_ “You are mine.” _

* * *

Siebren rested his lips against Rein’s back, enjoying the way they absorbed his heat. Though the cough syrup had worked wonders on him, he still shivered in his sleep, and breathed harder than usual as his lungs put forth twice their usual effort. Intrusive thoughts invaded Siebren’s mind like an icy drill, thoughts of weakness and age and death, and he almost immediately felt the painful pull of his sinuses bringing tears to his eyes. And then he felt anger. Anger at the cruelty of nature. Anger at the inherent pessimism of his mind. Anger at how weak he often felt, despite having so much incredible power at his fingertips. The stars loved him, and he loved them back, but he’d say goodbye to them in a heartbeat if it meant he could meet Reinhardt earlier in his life. He shuddered to remember a time where he might as well have not existed, and almost felt glad that so many of his memories had been corrupted. A life without love was no life at all. Siebren sniffed. This was no time to wallow in self-pity. He turned the anger inward, towards himself for even thinking about such things. He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep.

“Siebren?” Reinhardt croaked, his voice still lingering in sleep. Siebren found he couldn’t respond, as his sinuses filled up again and would have wavered his voice enough that his feelings were made known. But there was no stopping a concerned Reinhardt. He turned over onto his side, being greeted by an image of Siebren that looked remarkably like a deer caught in headlights. Despite still being bleary-eyed and slightly incoherent, he stroked Siebren’s face gently. “_ Warum bist du traurig, mein Liebling? Hattest du einen Alptraum? (Why are you sad, my darling? Did you have a nightmare?) _” he partially slurred. Suddenly, the anger melted, as immaterially as fresh snow.

“_ Ik heb niet geslapen. Ik heb alleen maar trieste gedachten. Het komt wel goed met me. (I haven’t slept. Just been having sad thoughts. I’ll be alright.) _”

“_ Du solltest keine traurigen Gedanken alleine haben, (You shouldn’t be having sad thoughts alone,) _” he said with a gentle smile. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Siebren shook his head. “It's just the usual, no need.” Despite his words, he felt his brain betray him once again. “I’m not as strong as you think I am.”

“Then we have a different idea of strong, _ liebling _ ,” Rein whispered. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, even if I didn’t know it yet. _ Sich gegenseitig zu lieben bedeutet, dass wir nichts mehr alleine machen müssen, und das ist keine Schwäche. (Loving each other means that we don't have to do anything alone anymore, and that's not a weakness.) _” 

Siebren cupped Reinhardt’s cheek, thumbing his beard softly, before pressing their foreheads together.

“And don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

Siebren’s laugh was bashful and bright, the tenderness twisting in his gut as Rein wiped a tear away with his knuckle.

“You take care of me, and I take care of you.” Reinhardt pulled Siebren in for an embrace, his lips resting against the top of his head. He felt him relax in his arms, adjusting his head so that he could breathe, but also lean against Rein’s skin. Reinhardt slipped a hand out to cover Siebren’s shoulders with the comforter, smiling one last time as Siebren shifted underneath, and gave his collarbone a kiss.

“I love you, liefste,” Siebren sighed.

“I love you too, _ liebling. _I’ll see you in the morning.”

_ “Zweer je het? (You swear?)” _

_ “In Krankheit und Gesundheit. (In sickness and in health.)” _


End file.
